


The eternal rocks beneath

by Anonymous



Series: Creative Salt [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I am too exhausted to deal with your preformative morality, I may come back to this and add another chapter, Intrusive Thoughts, Just because people don't broadcast their pain, Non-graphic mentions of maggots, Still tired of all the remus hate, as well as the consequences of their seperation, doesn't mean that they arent suffering, exploring the relationship between both sides of creativity, if your a Remus hater please go somewhere else this isnt the story for you, in fact im amazed they dont hate thomas and other sides for seperating them as they did, it just means that they dont trust the people around them, non-graphic descriptions of body horror, some non graphic mentions of corpses, these two dont hate each other, to not turn around and twist the knife in their back some more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:56:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Every action that we take brings with them their own consequences. For Roman and Remus, the price that they must pay to fulfil Thomas' desires is one that shatters their already unstable existence in ways that none of the others seem willing to see.This is a story about one of the many times where Remus breaks and how Roman breaks with him.Intrusive thoughts. Creativity in its most brutal form. A never-ending assault of the most extreme thoughts, feelings and ideas the human mind was capable of. With not a second to breathe or think about what was happening around you. ‘What-ifs’ and ‘how abouts’ taken to their absolute limits.





	The eternal rocks beneath

**Author's Note:**

> I am still tired of all the Remus hate. As well as all of the Roman hates Remus stuff going around. The fandom right now feels a lot like i expect it was pre-accepting anxiety and before we saw more of deceits character. Everyone's so busy blaming Remus and seeing him as the villain that no one seems to want to stop and consider whether Remus is just as much subject to Intrusive thoughts as Virgil is to anxiety.
> 
> Ultimately I wanted to explore the effect that being a separated form of creativity has on these two and the kind of price they have to pay for their half-way existence. This is why at times you'll notice Roman's narrative dipping into the kind of things that would be a part of Remus' own as well as the bluring of the narrative voice at the end. I know everyone in this fandom seems to have jumped on the brothers! bandwagon but I see them more as one person torn apart then brothers. besides Roman himself doesn't explicitly call Remus his brother, he calls him a reflection and that's another thing entirely.

Roman finds him dumpster diving. Rifling through bags upon bags of senseless junk better suited to the background of a 80s cartoon then the depths of Thomas’ mind. The mind palace didn’t even have the concept of dumpsters or garbage. He must have conjured them specifically for the sake of rummaging, a distant part of Roman’s mind notes. Side stepping a particularly disgusting thought jammed in between embarrassing teenage scribblings and the memory of that time Thomas walked in on his brother having sex.

Roman had been all but ordered to have a chat with Remus, to get him to let up on Thomas for a little while. That’s not to say that most of the sides didn’t mind Thomas having nightmares. But that at this point in their existence, most of them expected Remus to slip out one or two mildly disturbing or confusing dreams every few months. As Logic had put it some months after their- after they- after Roman and Remus came to be. The very nature of intrusive thoughts meant that trying to keep them from happening just tended to make things worse for Thomas in the long run. Yet after the recent rash of upsetting dreams Thomas had barely slept a wink in days. Constantly plagued by the kind of vivid nightmares that even Logan, for all his comforting logic and unbiased facts, could not alleviate.

Or so Logan and Patton had put it. When they came to him, both upset and at their wits end. Unable to help Thomas but needing to have some sort of control over the situation. Something that in itself did not put Roman in the best of moods. The fact that even now Logan and Patton expected to have some sort of control over creativity, as if their sep-as if their very existence wasn’t enough for them. The fact that they went out of their way to hide Thomas’ terror and Remus’ restlessness from him -as if Roman were so removed from his nature that he couldn’t tell that something was wrong- until they were absolutely desperate for his help was another point of fury entirely.

Restlessness was a far too mild a word for what Roman saw before him, standing at the edge of creativity’s domain. To the others Remus’ actions may have seemed normal, expected, even jovial. The side himself sat right in the middle of a dumpster, his morningstar leaning against a nearby wall and his clothes fairly covered in absolute filth. A banana peel perched precariously on his shoulder, and at least two different types of fluids smeared on his clothes and face.

And yet Roman’s knowing eyes picked up on the subtler cues. The way that the lace upper half of his outfit was mussed and ragged. Far beyond Remus’ usual brand of messy and into something closer to truly filthy. The way his hands seemed to constantly flutter between several actions at once, with no sense of priority or order. The way his usual gleeful cackle was a constant drone. Just this side of too chipper to be any true mirth. More as if Remus were making noise for the sake of drowning out something else than to express his joys.

The positioning of Remus’ Morningstar too sent worrying messages. Watching the way his other half kept stealing glances at it, calloused hands snaking out to touch it every few seconds. Roman felt his own hand drop to his sword in sympathetic weariness. Imaginary adrenaline rushing through his non-existent veins as Roman’s every instinct responded to the perceived threat that put his other half on guard.

Something was definitely wrong with Remus. True his other half erred towards the side of irreverence. And more than one of the other sides had issues with his loudness and seemingly short attention span. But this maniac energy. This restlessness. This inability to relax was something else. To put it bluntly Roman was worried.

Roman finds himself taking a step forward. That forever aching part of him demanding that he come to Remus’ side. As he moves Roman’s elbow knocks into an empty tin, throwing it off the corner of the bin beside him. Between one breath and the next Remus goes from sitting surrounded by filth to crouching in a defensive position. His back to the wall and morningstar halfway up in a defensive stance. Head cocked to track the sound of the tin while his eyes flickered through a search pattern that would let him pinpoint threats with the most efficiency. His expression set in a look of focus and intent that would have left any other side shocked and confused.

Roman knew that Remus heard him before he sees him of course. But even before that, the sense they have of each other flares. An instinct, a desire, an imperative to return to each other. Crawl into each other’s skin. To rip their chests open and realign the two broken pieces of their souls, in the hope that they might become one again.

Longing pure and simple.

Roman finds himself greeted by a deliberately non-threatening wave of the morningstar. Remus’ voice raised high in a forced cheer. Even as the corners of his mouth seem to bleed from the edges, stretching his grin out to the centre of his cheeks in a mockery of delight. Greetings and questions and tales pouring out from his chapped lips like maggots erupting from a bloated corpse. Each one bringing with it a new memory or idea or question, jumping from shooting himself to drinking bleach with no rhyme or reason.

Roman listens intently to Remus’ account of Thomas’ last nightmare. Hearing far more than the seemingly gloating words pouring out from his other half’s twitching grin. His mind homing in on Remus’ tone of voice, the pitchy disorientating words a parody of the cadence that was only ever used on the others, those who could not be trusted. Not the gentle deep voiced hum that only ever passed between the two of them. Roman’s quick mind sketched out a picture of what remained unsaid and felt a deep sense of absolute dread.

It isn’t until Remus stops mid ramble to abruptly turn and bash his head against a spot on the wall, which now that his attention was drawn to it Roman saw was smeared with blood from Remus’ previous attempts, that his suspicions were -against his deepest hopes- confirmed.

Intrusive thoughts. Creativity in its most brutal form. A never-ending assault of the most extreme thoughts, feelings and ideas the human mind was capable of. With not a second to breathe or think about what was happening around you. ‘What-ifs’ and ‘how abouts’ taken to their absolute limits. For a moment, as he watches in horror as his other half attempts to brain himself. Roman fears that his presence comes too little too late.

Roman, as he comes to his realisation, can see Remus begin to wind down. His head coming to rest tiredly on the wall he had been hitting. Hair drooping over his features in uneven curtains, the hairspray he always used – rotten egg scented of course- having long-lost its impressive hold. His shoulders shaking with quiet exhausted sobs as he slowly crumpled to the floor.

And Roman, who had spent the better half of the last few weeks futilely trying to figure out what was happening, Roman who had just seen his other half. The half of him that held parts of a soul he still aches to once more inhibit. Treat him as a potential threat, beating his own head against the wall for just a moments’ respite from the creative voices always ringing in their head. Well Roman breaks.

Its stupid of course, monumentally, suicidally so. there’s a reason that the only one to ever approach either half of creativity when they were off balance was the other. It wasn’t safe to approach a highly trained, highly agitated warrior with anything other than the utmost caution.

And yet Roman throws himself at his other half. His sheathed sword coming up to redirect the Morningstar mid-swing, even as his other arm comes around Remus’ shoulders. Throwing them into a controlled fall that quickly turned into a sort of one-armed laying hug. A shaking Remus cradled between Roman’s legs, nose tucked into the crook of his other half’s neck. One muscular arm wrapped around his shaking shoulders, while the other held its blade in a defensive position. As if Roman were ready to take on all comers, to single-handedly do battle with every dream and thought and nightmare plaguing him. Soothing nonsense rumbles out of the mouth buried in his hair, telling him to let go, that Roman was here for him.

And maybe if this was a story. The kind of tale that had caused their separation in the first place. This would be the bit where Roman’s love somehow banishes the slow burning torture that chars Remus from the inside out. This would be the moment when he would be healed, and they would embrace each other and say ‘never again’.

No matter how much they both loathe those stories, especially when the price of their duties weighed so heavily. Their very nature meant that they were almost compelled to wish that they could live out such a simple tale, but this wasn’t one of Thomas’ stories. The price for Creativity is one that can never be re-paid in full. One that takes its toll on both of them, ebbing and flowing in the reimbursements it takes from either creative force at its own whims. A debt that is separate from and yet forever linked to the price they had been made to pay so long ago.

And so Roman sits in a dusty corner of creativity’s domain, surrounded by dumpsters, and dangers and guilt. His other half held tightly in his arms, shaking and sobbing in an agony that they could do nothing about.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this story was supposed to end on a completely different note. But as I tried to force a more positive end I realised that for these two there is no good end. Not really. Even if they were to merge back together, they would still have to deal with the others and their preconceived notions of what they should be.
> 
> Title taken from Wuthering Heights  
_'My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don't talk of our separation again: it is impracticable.'_


End file.
